


Constant Satellite

by whereismygarden



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Backstory, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“David,” he said, leaning forward and shaking salt over his entire tray. “I’m tired of being called Major when I’m not in the field.”</p>
<p>Young and Telford meet: backstory, sex, more backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Satellite

**Author's Note:**

> Ultimately after I finished this I realized I wanted to write a multi-chapter story about everyone's feelings, so maybe I'll come back to all this, add chapters and not really worry about chronology. But when I wrote the bulk of it at 11 pm, I just wanted to write a sex scene, so that's why this piece is so all over the place.

                Young thought the officers’ mess at Cheyenne Mountain was kind of weird: not everyone ate in the military messes, especially the people on gate teams with civilians. And depending on what kind of team you were in, rank composition was different. There was an overabundance of commissioned officers on the gate teams, for one thing. Whether that continued to be the case as the program went on, or didn’t, well, he wasn’t ready to place his bets yet.

                He sat down at the edge of a table by himself, worn out after a tense day of guarding a stargate with no tree cover, or any cover, to speak of. It had been an anxiety-inducing mixture of keeping an eye out for Jaffa, trying not to antagonize the villagers from nearby the gate, and checking in with SG-6.

                One of the guys on SG-6 was coming over to him now, and Young straightened up slightly, nodding at him. He set his tray down across from Young’s with careful hands, but threw himself down into his chair carelessly.

                “Hey, Major,” he said. “Finished your report before I did mine, I guess?” Young took a bite of his mashed potatoes, swallowed, and agreed that that had probably been the case.

                “Not much variation throughout the day for me, Major Telford.” Telford shook his head a little.

                “David,” he said, leaning forward and shaking salt over his entire tray. “I’m tired of being called Major when I’m not in the field.”

                “Everett,” Young said in return, looking him over. He was tall, bulky even without the body armor they’d all had on on-planet. He had black hair, darker than Everett’s own, now visible without the helmet obscuring it.

                “Where did you get pulled in from?” he asked, cutting his pot roast into chunks. “How’s leading a team? It’s weird, working with civilians in the field like this, right?”

                “No civilians on my team,” Young said.

                “I’m kind of jealous, Everett.” Telford gave a short laugh. “They’re not trouble, exactly, but they sure as hell don’t really get the concept of ‘do what I say first, ask questions later.’” He chewed on a piece of meat reflectively.   

                “At least you get to do some walking around,” Young pointed out. “Next time you can guard the gate.”

                Telford just smiled and shook his head a little.

                Their houses were only a few streets apart, in Colorado Springs, and on their days off they sort of fell into a habit of playing basketball at the hoop some long-gone highschooler had installed in Young’s backyard, drinking beer, and tourist-watching. Telford wasn’t exceptional at basketball, but neither was Young, and the game was more fun after they’d each put away a sixpack or two.

                Telford spent some time dating a woman too young for him, but he pointed out that she worked at the Olympic Training Center, with the gymnasts, and wouldn’t he want to date someone that flexible?

                “You’re jealous,” he said. Young just pointed out that a ten-year age difference was pushing it a bit, and didn’t have as much fun hanging out with Grayson and the guys from SG-16 while Telford ditched them on his days off. She eventually dumped him, though, due to the fact that he could never say anything about his work, and only spend time with her on his nights off.

                “I can’t plan stuff when I might be offworld,” he said to Young. SG-1 was missing, two days late. Young wondered about the value of planning anything except the next gate trip. Not that that was bad. He didn’t really think that his life was missing anything: the gate trips, even if they sometimes were just guarding the gate, were still spectacular. His mother sometimes asked if he was seeing anyone, but he pointed out that he was busy, and only in his mid-thirties.

                His team was taken prisoner in September of 1999, and they spent three days rationing three canteens of water until SG-3 got them out: dragged them out, half delirious with some indigenous fever.

                After Fraiser had judged him to be recovered, rehydrated, and nourished enough, Telford drove him home and took beer from the fridge. Young double fisted beer and water, unable to focus on the football game playing at a low volume on the TV. His eyes hurt, for some reason.

                “How are you holding up?” Telford asked. Young twisted his mouth.

                “We all lived, so good,” he said. He felt suddenly wired, keyed up, as if a few beers had taken the tension off enough for him to realize that they’d lived through what he’d expected to be a slow death. He let out a shaky laugh, looked over at Telford, who was sipping at his beer and watching him carefully.

                “Everett,” he said quietly, voice low, and put his hand slowly, deliberately, on Young’s shoulder. Young looked back at him, feeling something drop in his stomach at the press of Telford’s hand.

                “David?” he returned, drawing it out, making it a question. But he didn’t pull away, even though he could feel intent of a different kind in the touch. Not just a buddy giving him a clap on the shoulder, shaking him to anchor him. Telford lifted his beer up and finished it, setting the bottle down with a muted click on the wooden floor. Young’s stomach was a mess of nerves, his heart pounding. This was—this was illegal, or well, it might be illegal in a few moments.

                But when Telford leaned closer, swung his leg over both of Young’s so that he was straddling his lap, facing him, though they weren’t touching, he didn’t push him away. He leaned back against the couch, letting his head sag against the cushion, eyes meeting Telford’s, which were dark and careful, hard to read in the low light. Something in Young was warring with his instinct to do nothing, to stretch out plausible deniability to its limits, wait, make David make every move, protect himself. But something was fluttering in his chest, making him speak up, say,

                “Am I worth the risk of this?”

                Telford’s hand curved over his shoulder, seized his upper arm, and his lips drew up into a smirk.

                “Am I?” he asked.

                “David,” Young said, feeling himself rushing towards some kind of precipice, towards whatever decision he was about to make.

                When he reached up to put his hands on David’s hips, it didn’t even feel like a decision, just like instinct. They crashed together hard, chest to chest, groin to groin, as Young tugged him down. David’s mouth finally touching his was like the rough, satisfying strike of match against box, drawing up a brilliant and sudden flame.

                David’s hands were on his face, and Young couldn’t keep his hands still over his back, forcing them together, greedy for every inch of the body pressed against his. The taste of beer was getting lost in the slippery back-and-forth of their lips and tongues and the sharp, exhilarating tug of teeth on his lips. God, David was playing dirty, teasing him and chasing him, one hand slipped down to his chest. Young leaned forward as he pulled away, a trail of spit hanging between their mouths breaking and falling down his chin.

                “David,” he said again, and David leaned forward, pressed them close again, and Young turned his face into his neck. He sucked at the base of David’s neck, over where his clavicle joined his sternum, and seized the back of his shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his jeans. His hands on skin dragged a frantic groan from his throat, and he lifted his head, needing to kiss David again. This time David held his head still and spent a long, slow time of it dragging his tongue all through Young’s mouth, while Young worked his t-shirt up to his armpits and then pulled the back of it over his head. David had no choice but to pause for a moment and let him finish taking it off.

                He was broad and tan and nothing Young hadn’t seen before in the lockers, but the sight of him was making Young hard. He let David pull his shirt off, run his hands over his chest and dig his fingers into his shoulders.

                “Everett, _hell,_ ” David gritted out, and then he was on top of Young on the couch, and they were both lying down. David was kissing wetly over his throat, and their hands were at each other’s belts and their own, too shaky to coordinate. Young could feel David’s hard dick through his jeans, and it was—it was surprisingly arousing, though he didn’t know why he was surprised at this point.

                “God, let me—“ he fumbled David’s zipper down, sliding his hand into his underwear, the damp, hot stiffness of his cock suddenly in his palm. It shocked him, shaking his awareness back down to the reality that he and another officer were half dressed with their hands down each other’s pants. Fear rose up suddenly, enough to make him slow down, draw his hand back, if not enough to take the edge off the erection that David was working on drawing out of his boxers.

                “Shit,” he said, the words coming out in a gasp of fear, and David bit down on his jaw, tugged his boxers and pants down a bit.

                “It’s okay,” he said. “Come on, Everett.” He moved his hands down Young’s chest, his stomach, stopping to grip him firmly by the hips.

                Fuck it, right? Who would know? They’d already gone past the point of being able to deny anything.

                “Yeah, yeah,” he said, panting, and let himself relish the sight of David taking his cock out, the edge of arousal that it sent up his spine making his eyes water. Then David pressed down against him again, putting his hand between them, so his dick was against Young’s, and Young heard another frantic groan escape his mouth.

                It should have been as artless as fumbling in a dorm room at age eighteen, the slow, arrhythmic grind of David’s hips and palm, but it wasn’t. The over-dry slide of skin on skin, the head of his dick catching on the unfamiliar callus of David’s hand, the overwhelming knowledge that he had another man’s dick rubbing against his and it felt _so good,_ David’s dark eyes locked on his: Young felt strung out, stretched thin over the sensations coursing through him.

                He dragged David’s mouth back to his, into a sloppy kiss that made their teeth knock together. David caught him by the chin and turned his head to this side, running his thumb over Young’s mouth.

                “Spit,” he said roughly, lips brushing his ear, hand upturned near his mouth, and Young did. David kissed him again, forceful and deep, as he wrapped his slick hand around Young’s cock and moved it up and down, tight and fast.

                “Yes yes yes, David, God,” Young was panting, hips jerking up into David’s hands, whispering into the sweaty skin of his neck.

                “Everett,” his eyes were so fucking intense, black as coffee, brilliant and inescapable because Young was barely aware of anything but David and his hands and his eyes and his voice--

                He came biting down on his own arm, David whispering into his ear until his hips finally stopped shaking and his back relaxed out of the tensed arch it had become.

                David’s hand was resting on his stomach, sticky with come now, and he could feel his erection still pressed between them, slick at the tip. Young took David’s hand, wrapped it around his dick, and had to close his eyes at the pulse of desire that went through him as he covered someone else’s cock with his come.

                “What do you want?” he asked, as David moved so that they could sit up. His eyes were still fixed on Young, but he looked guarded, now, and flicked his gaze away for a moment, bringing his hand up to brush over Young’s mouth again. Young lifted an eyebrow, unable to stop his jaw from dropping for a second. “Yeah?”

                “Yeah,” David said, voice hoarse, but eyes daring him, challenging him to do it. Well. He’d asked what he wanted. And who the hell didn’t want a blowjob?

                He got off the couch, knocking David’s empty beer over with a clang that was too loud in the dim room. For a moment, he felt awkward, trying to find the best way to crouch at David’s feet, trying not to feel strange kneeling between his legs, but then he looked up to see David watching him, eyes nearly closed and face slack with something Young had never seen before. His hands were clenched tight in the fabric of his jeans, and hell, this was—this was suddenly very good, and Young put his hands over David’s, breaking his grip, pushing his legs further apart so he could settle between them.

                It was harder than he’d expected, getting David’s cock into his mouth without catching his teeth, and his jaw started to hurt pretty fast. Still, it wasn’t bad, it was good even, the feeling of it against his tongue and the sides of his mouth, and though he had to go slowly, the glide of his lips over skin was oddly satisfying. He had to hold back a groan when he looked up and met David’s eyes, which were wrecked, face flushed and lines of sweat running down his forehead.

                “God, you’re—“ David bit his lip, and put his hands on Young’s face, which only made him more aware of his cock in his _mouth_ , but not in a bad way, really.

                Young figured out how to move his head and work his tongue, and put his weight into holding David still while he sped up and sucked at him. It sort of worked, because he just dug his fingers into Young’s shoulders and groaned, loudly, until there was a hot, salt-bitter flood of liquid in Young’s mouth.

                “Everett, Christ!” He felt David’s nails drag hard over his back, and pulled his head back, wanting to cough. He spit on the floor, nauseous at the idea of managing to swallow that, and then David was pulling at his arms. He struggled back onto the couch, doing up his pants belatedly. David was giving him a lazy, satisfied smile.

                “Not bad?” he asked. David shook his head.

                “You give good head,” he said, laughing a little. “God, yeah, you do.”

                There were suddenly a lot of things choking up Young’s chest and throat, things like _what did that all mean?_ and _we just broke the law_ and _why now, two years after we met?_ and _sucking your dick turned me on way too much_ and _I think I was jealous of your girlfriend, not you._ But he couldn’t say any of those things, because even after doing what they’d just done, it wasn’t easy to say ‘What do I mean to you?’ So he stayed quiet, and put the beer bottles in the recycling, and cleaned up the come he’d spit onto the floor. When he sat back down on the couch, David kissed him again, like they were lovers.

                It persisted, something quiet and secret and hot, something that he and David did alone at their houses, not too often, but regularly, for years. Young was pretty sure it never affected anything they did in the field, because they rarely had missions together, and when they did, he would do the same things for anyone. They were hardly exclusive: Young dated less than David, but David apparently didn’t consider his brief relationships to be anything serious, because even during the longest of them, they still spent a few nights every month in each other’s beds.

                In 2004, he met Emily, and sex with David stopped. It didn’t put a damper on their friendship, Young thought, but a year later, David was sent for a long posting at the beta site and then Atlantis, and Young got engaged and married.

                In hindsight, maybe it was a sign of some kind that he never admitted to his wife that he’d been sleeping with his best friend for six years before their relationship. Maybe it was the strange familiarity of pulling someone wearing an SGC uniform into his lap, his bed that made it so easy to fall into TJ at Icarus. She was tall and bright as well, but soft where Telford had been hard, and that was what he needed at Icarus. It was Telford’s damnable hardness and pragmatism that had led to the attack, after all.

                Hearing from Scott that Telford was seeing Emily, and hearing from Rush that Telford was betraying the SGC, were two blows in succession. Young thought that for all that his life had changed a lot since 1998, too much of it was coming into orbit around the same man, as if their drifting apart had just been an aberration, and things were going back to normal. Young had to wonder, as he let Rush’s body stop breathing, if their relationship was affecting how he behaved in the field.

                When David came back from the seed ship, from being lost forever, Young started to think that maybe Rush had some idea about fate, after all. Because when he shoved David down onto the strange, slippery bedcovers of his bunk on Destiny, and he smiled his challenging smile back, face a bit older, a bit more scarred than a decade ago, much more between them now, it felt like instinct again.

                “I missed you,” he said, heart open in his black eyes, and Young closed his eyes against everything broken in his life, reaching for something that had been true and unrealized for a while.

                “I love you,” he replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I skipped a lot of canon because I didn't want to write it, but I might go in later and just write long boring chapters about Young and Telford having feelings during "Subversion."
> 
> I'm going off something I read that said Young and Emily were not married for very long before the events of the series.
> 
> Title from Vienna Teng's "Gravity." I gotta start listing her as a co-author, because titles are the worst.


End file.
